


Under The Big Top

by DixieDale



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 02:51:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17890112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Per Andrew Carter:"It was Newkirk who brought up the resemblance to a circus in the first place.  Well, he should know, having traveled with one during part of what he called his 'misspent youth'.  And he was probably right; it certainly had a lot of the necessary parts - clowns, illusionists and a number of other performers; lots of tricks and games of skill; a little puffery and tomfoolery and misdirection; some magic elixer from a snakeoil salesman; wild animals (well, at least one - I mean, Hochstetter counts, right?), a dangerous knife act, and above all, a Ringmaster.  Yep, coulda been called a circus, all right."





	Under The Big Top

The Clowns Enter The Ring:

Where to even begin? That is a valid question, considering just how many moving parts there were to the circus unfolding in and around Stalag 13. And for once? The Ringmaster of the whole thing? Well, it wasn't Colonel Robert Hogan or any of his men, that's for certain. Well, not entirely anyway, though Hogan (and his guys) did intend to take full advantage of the opportunities it presented. After all, the big top had lots of room for all kinds of acts, any number of performers.

Perhaps a good place to start would be in General Burkhalter's office, as he rubbed his aching eyes, put his glasses back on and tried once more to make sense of what he held in his hand.

General Albert Burkhalter read the communication again, knowing he just HAD to have read it wrong the first time. It went something like this:

"In order to share knowledge and better train our fighting and support forces, by the decree of the highest authority, the following officers will report to XXXXXXXXX for two weeks, starting xx/xx/xx, for a cross-training session. By that means, we will share the successful methods of some of our best officers in a variety of positions. We have determined each of the participants' special areas of strength. Therefore each officer listed below is to be prepared to deliver one two-hour lecture on each of the subjects listed beside their name, along with related activities for participant inclusion. Any additional materials are to be prepared in advance and delivered by the officer in question upon arrival. An itinerary of times for each lecture, and all other activities including round-table discussions and social events will be handed out at the orientation at 8:00 am on the first day of the training. The evening before will be a time for the participants and the organizers to meet and get better acquainted."

Well, that part he understood, and the idea certainly had merit. What he couldn't believe he'd read, had seen, was that sixth name from the top - 'Colonel Wilhelm Klink, Kommandant, Stalag 13'. That was bad enough, but added to that were the 'special areas of strength'! 

Burkhalter's assistant came rushing in at the sounds of choking and pounding on the desk from Burkhalter's office. From the looks of it, the general was having some kind of seizure.

"Sir! Are you alright, sir? Shall I bring the doctor??" Mueller gasped, observing the hefty man with the contorted, now purplish-red face, wheezing, his eyes running with tears.

Then he realized it was laughter he was watching, laughter of a magnitude he had never seen from his boss before. He was somewhat relieved when a wave of Burkhalter's hand told him that was not necessary, but what on earth had brought his grumpy superior to this state, he could not imagine.

Finally, wiping his eyes with a snowy handkerchief, Burkhalter finally caught his breath, though his breathing was still laboured. 

"Klink, Mueller! They want KLINK to give lectures on his efficient management techniques and, and, and . . . ". For a moment Mueller thought that fit of laughter was coming back again from the contortions on Burkhaulter's pudgy face. "And his expert skills in maintaining top physical and mental combat readiness while serving in a non-combat role! Klink, Mueller, Klink!!!"

It wasn't often that Mueller found himself in perfect agreement with Burkhalter, but in this case? Ach du lieber! Klink??!!!

Eventually, though, the sheer insanity of that proposal became less amusing and more worrisome. Well, as Klink's superior officer, Klink's actions could have an impact on Burkhalter himself. If the man made a total fool of himself, and nothing was more likely, it would reflect poorly on the general for keeping such a nincompoop in a position of authority. If he somehow got away with this, successfully imparting his 'special techniques' for his management and preparedness techniques, it could set the efficiency of the Third Reich back tremendously. The vision of Klink transforming a room full of proper German officers into replicas of his own sorry self was enough to make even a general shudder in horror.

He started to pick up the phone and call Berlin, protesting this foolishness, but the signatures on that order made him pause. No, perhaps HIS superiors had some logical reason for this madness; best not to interfere. 

"Mueller, remind me to check in on this Major Luman frequently. He is to take over temporarily while Klink is away. Colonel Hogan is not a man to be taken lightly, and a new man will not know that. And not a word of this to Major Hochstetter. If he discovers it on his own, I cannot stop that, but I want no tittle-tattle from this office stirring his cauldron. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Herr General, of course!"

 

Next, of course, we should probably check on Colonel Wilhelm Klink, indirect cause of that explosive scene in General Burkhalter's office. Burkhalter had taken the precaution of delivering those orders (mein gott, those orders!) to Klink in person. He wanted there to be no mistake. If Klink embarrassed him, the monacle-wearing fool would find himself with icicles hanging off more than one portion of his anatomy!

Klink had greeted his superior with his usual false proclamation of unrelenting joy at the sight of that scowling lump stomping in through his doorway.

"General Burkhalter. What a pleasant surprise! I did not know you were coming!" all the while grinning like a fool.

Burkhalter looked at this 'model of efficiency' and snorted. "A surprise, yes. Pleasant, no. And if I wanted you to know I was coming, I would have let you know. Sit down, Klink, you look like a pigeon flapping its wings standing there! Now, I have something very important to discuss with you. I have news," he proclaimed as he carefully lowered himself into a chair.

Klink's frantic smile dimmed, became slightly anxious. "News, Herr General? What sort of news?" News from up the chain of command was rarely good news. Of course, news from the other direction rarely was either. In fact, Klink was firmly of the opinion that 'no news is good news'.

"Sit down and shut up, Klink. This is difficult enough as it is!"

"Yes, sir, I'll sit down and shut up," the Kommandant of Stalag 13 replied, ducking his head and following suit.

"And DO try to listen! It would appear you are to be one of the participants of a new program . . ."

 

Later, after Burkhalter left, Klink sat there, stunned, pondering the situation. He was sure he was getting a mental whiplash. Puffed up pride, apprehension, worry, outright fear at those images of icicles Burkhalter had threatened him with, each in its turn had visited him. 

Then back to a proud lift of his head at the notion that HE, Wilhelm Klink, was being held up as an example of the best of the best! A quick furtive glance in the mirror caused that proud head to drop, matching his drooping shoulders. He knew, better than anyone, what he was. He was in such trouble! He needed help, he needed . . . .

"Schultz!!!! Get me Colonel Hogan, immediately! Now!!!"

Well, the circus was moving right along, and adding Hogan into the mix was just the signal for bringing in the clowns, the monkeys, the trick horses, and the magician who kept making your wallet disappear before your very eyes.

 

The Old Shell-Game:

Meanwhile, in Berlin, the clerk involved in making the arrangements for someone to cover for those special eight participants in that newest program was struggling to focus. His glasses had been giving him trouble, and he'd been given permission to take an hour out of the day to see the eye specialist. 

Now, sitting in front of his typewriter, trying to blink away the residual moisture, trying to shield his eyes from the overwhelming glare from the overhead light, he struggled to enter the information he needed in order to get those transfer orders out in the courier pouches within the next hour. Dilating of the eyes probably was not something that should be done prior to such a job, but he was determined to finish the task before his superior took HIM to task for taking so long.

Finally, with almost ten minutes to spare, he started to proofread his work, but it was a struggle and he was only part way through when the impatient courier walked through the door. {"Oh, well. I'm sure I got it all right,"} he tried to tell himself, uneasily aware of how he still wasn't seeing his numbers all that well. Threes still looked much like eights, sevens and ones almost indecipherable, but still, surely he'd not made any mistakes.

 

And that, in a nutshell, is how Major Johann Luman ended up at a Stalag several hundred miles away from Stalag 13. And at that Stalag, so far away?

"But those were my orders, Herr Kommandant! As you will see, they are most clear. I am to take over for you for two weeks, while you pursue 'other scheduled activities'. No, I was given no information about those 'other activities', only that I am to come here, and keep things in good order until your return."

Kommandant Krueger frowned, held his hand out for the orders. Well, that's what they said all right. It seemed a little vague; why, they hadn't even mentioned Krueger by name, only that Luman was to take over for the Kommandant of this Stalag etc, etc. While more than a little bewildered by the earnest young Major Johann Luman showing up on his doorstep without prior notice, he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

He'd been promised a two-week leave several months ago, but the actual orders had never arrived, and he'd been firmly discouraged from reminding anyone again. "You will get your leave when we determine it to be the best time, Kommandant! Do not pester us about it!"

Well, perhaps the Powers That Be had finally determined it to be that rather vague 'best time'. A little 'executive initiative' could easily turn THESE orders into the OTHER orders, and he was sure he could convince anyone questioning him of the validity of that thinking. He'd just take a copy of the orders with him, just in case, and it wasn't like he was going far. His home and family was only fifty miles away, after all. 

He spent a hurried afternoon bringing Major Luman up to speed, introducing him to his aide, (a congenial and highly competent man who in truth could have run the place without him OR Luman), packing a suitcase, ordering his car, and disappeared out the gate before anyone could change their minds. 

That was the last he thought about the whole matter until he returned two weeks later. If it was a little puzzling, a month later, when he received orders to go ahead and take his two week leave, leaving the camp in the care of his aide this time, well, that was nothing he was going to question either.

***  
Meanwhile, at a complex that managed a wide-spread network of military weapons installations, Colonel Wilbert Klint was trying to conceal his intense frustration and disappointment. When he'd heard about the new program, he'd been quite hopeful that he would be selected to participate. He was sure he could learn a lot, and even more sure the others could learn a great deal from him.

However, as one of his 'dearest friends' had immediately called to tell him (ie. gloat), it appeared Colonel Klint had not only not made the short list, he hadn't even made the long list!

Now, a sullen Colonel Wilbert Klint was re-reading the earlier correspondence he had received about that new program the Führer was putting into practice - letting the best-of-the-best help each other to become even better. 

How could they have overlooked him? He was an expert at management, equally adept at managing equipment and personnel and records. Why, he held more responsibility with the multitude of facilities under his direction than anyone else in his field! His efficiency ratings were always at the very top of the charts, never a speck of trouble at the operations under his command, and if there was even a hint, he personally oversaw the correction!

And he might be in a non-combat position, but he had studied every technique possible to be sure he was ready and able to excel should that ever change. He had a strict physical training regimen, could best the records of many younger men just graduating from the military academies in endurance, skill with weaponry, hand-to-hand combat. 

He believed in a strong mind in a strong body, abjured any vices that might damage either. He didn't drink, he didn't gamble, and his smoking was limited to one cigar a day when they were available. 

While he was not married, he was not a loose womanizer, and there had never been a hint of untidy gossip to his name. HIS name should have been on the list of participants! His name should have LED the list of participants!

As he went over the list of those who had been chosen, did some discreet research into each of them, he had nodded in grudging approval of some of the names, frowned skeptically over one or two, and sputtered in fury over the inclusion of one Wilhelm Klink. He wondered at the similarity of names, but when he had tentatively put forth the possibility of a mixup, his contact in Berlin had been highly disdainful, even insulting. Well, Wilbert did tread rather heavily on the nerves of his 'friends' and associates, with all his superior notions; it was only to be expected they would find a little gratification in this snub.

When he complained vociferously to his lovely girlfriend, Albertine, she agreed it WAS highly insulting that he should have been overlooked! Not only insulting, but truly unforgiveable. Why, it would serve everyone right if he just QUIT! Let them get someone ELSE to manage their silly old factories and storage depots and such!

He'd just had to laugh at the idea. Albertine was beautiful, very sweet, very passionate, but she was not particularly bright. Now he gently explained, as one would perhaps to a ten year old, that one didn't just QUIT the military, especially the German military, especially during wartime.

However, she'd planted a seed, and Albertine was content to sit back and watch it take root. Ah, yes, a little time, a little nuturing, and there would be one less German officer giving his all for the Fatherland, and one MORE disgruntled German officer telling all he knew to Allied Command about that morass of military weapons installations he was charged with keeping running at peak efficiency. 

Albertine, an experienced Allied Agent, possessed herself in patience, at least somewhat. She DID miss Switzerland, her homeland, but it shouldn't be long now. It had been a stroke of genius for one of her fellow agents to put the notion of that program into the heads of one of the more gullible of the High Command, and an equally ingenious one to select the one man whose inclusion would be both highly insulting to Colonel Wilbert Klint and yet could be attributed to a clerical error should anyone of importance get wise.

 

The Performers Ready Their Acts - 

"Fraulein! Is Hogan not here yet?" Klink yelled in frustration.

"Right here, Kommandant," a smiling Colonel Hogan said cheerily, appearing the doorway with a puffing Schultz right behind him. 

"Say, is that a new hat? We were just saying the other day, me and the guys, the Kommandant really needs . . ."

"Hogan! I did not send for you to discuss my hat!" Klink fumed. He needed Hogan's help, but sometimes getting the senior prisoner of war to focus on important matters was just so difficult! How the Allies ever expected to win a war with officers like him, Klink could never understand!

"Oh, well, okay, Kommandant, if you say so," Hogan said, plopping himself down in the visitor's chair. He knew what the Kommandant wanted, of course. As soon as Burkhalter's staff car had rolled through the gates, he and the guys had warmed up the coffee pot and had been listening in. It was surprising the two German officers hadn't heard them all the way from Barracks 2 at the outburst of hilarity that little assignment of Klink's had aroused in everyone.

Klink explained, starting out boastful, but the cracks in his veneer showing before long. "So, while I AM quite efficient, and certainly in fine combat readiness form, I must ask myself - how do I teach to others those things that make ME so successful? I come by those things naturally; they run in my family, you know. I thought perhaps an outside view might be helpful."

That carefully worded statement quickly disintegrated into a "Hogan! How do I get out of this?? My job is here, at Stalag 13! This Major who is coming to replace me, this Johann Luman; he knows NOTHING about running a camp of this importance! He might let things get out of hand! He might let everyone escape! If that happens, General Burkhalter will have me shot! Or sent to the Russian Front! Or both! Of course, he says he'll do that if I embarrass him at this meeting, too!"

Then, hearing himself, realizing Hogan might not be all that concerned should such a man take over for awhile, OR what Klink's possible fate at the hands of General Burkhalter might be, he regrouped.

"Why, he might be someone like Major Hochstetter, Hogan! Who knows what actions he might take, what punishments he might hand out??! As you know, Hogan, I am strict but fair, always fair. This Major Luman, he might not be so fair! This could be very hard on your men, you know, with someone like that in charge!"

Hogan was obviously thinking very deeply. Well, actually Klink was right for a change. Everything depended on the nature of this Major Luman. This could either be a great opportunity to pull out all the stops and do some major damage, or they could end up on lock-down, unable to get anything done at all. Or, this Luman could be one of the nut-cases running around the Third Reich doling out as much harm as their imagination could come up with, and unfortunately, some of them had quite the imagination.

"Looks to me like what you could use is some expert assistance, Kommandant. Oh, nothing that would detract from your own genius, of course, just some help dealing with the more menial parts of this, uh, great opportunity of yours! Perhaps with preparing the lectures, handouts, charts and graphs, all of that. Lucky for you, we have such experts on hand right here in camp!"

Klink raised his head from his desk, hope mingling with suspicion on his face. "We do? And who might these experts be?"

Hogan was thinking fast. Find out what the mark wants to buy, then convince them you have it to sell, all at a price they can afford. Yeah, he could do that.

"Well, Newkirk is a dab hand at drawing stuff; charts and graphs would be a snap for him. Now, Kinch, he's the physical expert; he was Golden Gloves, you know. We'll get him to take a good look at you in action, doing your physical tune-ups, so to speak. HE can work on putting all your expertise into words the others, less knowledgeable in that area, could understand easier. Well, we could hardly expect YOU to do that; you have to focus on keeping yourself in fighting trim! LeBeau, he can focus on the nutritional aspect, the proper diet, maybe some of that herbal tonic and remedy stuff he knows. Now, Carter, he's part American Indian, you know; he knows a lot about that as well, so he can help; and Carter's good with numbers too. He can help put the basic stuff together that Newkirk will use on those charts and graphs."

Klink was looking even more suspicious now. "And the lectures themselves?"

"Well, I've heard some of the guys mentioning that Newkirk gives a mean speech, really captures the audience's attention; seems they can't take their eyes off him," not mentioning Newkirk's red face and Kinch and Carter's incomprehensible grins whenever the subject was mentioned. 

Well, Hogan didn't understand that part either, and Newkirk had threatened Kinch and Carter with bloody murder if they ever enlightened their commanding officer. To paraphrase that LAST warning, "bloody 'ell, Andrew, I catch you telling ANYONE you been imagining me standing in front of a bunch of people giving a speech all starkers, I'll toss you over the fence! And you too, Kinch!" 

Carter's innocent protests of "but Peter, I TOLD you; the audience really liked you! And you looked real good without any clothes on; no one could take their eyes off you!" met with narrowed, menacing blue-green eyes. Kinch hadn't said a word, but couldn't keep that grin off his face.

Hogan continued the pitch. "And I've given quite a few lectures myself, you know. Now, don't you worry about a thing, Kommandant! It's in the bag!" Hogan smiled with total confidence.

Klink stared, then thumped his head back down on his desk, wailing, "in the bag?? If this doesn't work, Hogan, it will be ME in the bag! Then you will maybe get this Major Luman permanently. And I will tell you, I am SURE he is another Hochstetter!!!" He raised his bloodshot eyes to glare at Hogan. "You had better know what you are doing!! Dismissed!"

Hogan exchanged glances with Sergeant Schultz, who had been standing there open-mouthed the whole time. Schultz shook his head in worry, "I too hope you know what you are doing, Colonel Hogan!" he whispered.

Hogan looked back at the moaning Klink, "me too, Schultz, me too."

 

When Hogan got back to the barracks his team surrounded him, all talking at the same time, protesting their inclusion in this little endeavor. 

"And just why should we be 'elping the old geezer, tell me that, Colonel!!! Bloody kraut! Let 'im fall on 'is flat arse and end up with icicles, that's w'at I say!"

"And I for one do not wish to share my recipes or my knowledge of tonics and remedies with any of the boch, mon colonel! Let them use their OWN remedies, and may they poison themselves doing so!"

"Yeah, Colonel! And besides, you've seen Klink and his 'physical tune-ups'! Guy does two push-ups, he thinks he's Superman! What am I supposed to say about that??!" Even the usually cooperative Kinch wasn't too enthusiastic about this project.

Carter snorted, watching Felix run up and down his coat sleeve, "you could put together a bunch of stuff about looking like a mouse on the outside but being a lion on the inside!"

Everyone looked at him, catcalls coming from every one except Hogan, who furroughed his brow in thought, then snapped his fingers. "You know, Carter, I think you just might be on to something!"

Carter looked puzzled (well, so did everyone else!), "I am?" then perked up, proud as a peacock. "Yeah, I guess I am!"

"Aw, stubble it, Andrew! 'e's just funning with you."

"No, no, Newkirk! I really think he's got something there. Come on, in my office; let's talk this through, let me get some notes together!"

Still teasing Andrew, that worthy getting a mild thump on the back of his head by Newkirk, they filed into Hogan's quarters, there to put together a master plan. Or, as Newkirk called it, mimicking the ringmaster in his old circus, 'a mastery of illusion like never before seen under the big top!'. 

 

In the guards' barracks, Schultz was polishing his rifle. While he tried never to put bullets into it, he DID like to keep it looking nice. Corporal Langenscheidt sat on his bunk, watching, trying to make sense of what Schultz had just told him. 

"And they want Kommandant Klink to teach them how to be their best?? OUR Kommandant Klink? Is there perhaps another Kommandant Klink in the German army and someone made a mistake? Is it a scheme by the Allies to undermine the military?"

Somewhere someone would have been startled at just how accurate that analysis was, but extremely glad the one who'd come up with the idea was a lowly sometimes-Corporal, a dreamer of dreams, a teller of stories. 

"Hush, Langenscheidt," Schultz frowned, looking around anxiously. "The walls, sometimes they have ears, you know."

"So what are we to do?"

Schultz shrugged, "we will do as we always do, obey orders."

That got him a skeptical look, since that was NOT what they always did, though considering those walls and possible ears, it was probably best not to discuss what they sometimes did instead of follow orders. 

"And if he doesn't arrive before the Kommandant leaves, Schultz? You will be in charge," refraining from grinning at the thought. He knew the last thing Schultz wanted was to be in charge of anything!

"We will pray that doesn't happen, Karl, but if it does, between you and Fraulein Hilda and myself, we will manage!" It was easy for Schultz to show confidence in that now, since he knew there was no way anyone would make the mistake of leaving him in charge, so Major Luman would CERTAINLY arrive before the Kommandant departed.

"And Colonel Hogan? And his men? Mein gott, can you imagine the monkey business they will get up to???", warming up to the subject.

Schultz groaned, dropped his greying head into his hands, "no, Karl, please, don't . . ."

Karl Langenscheidt grinned, stretched, laid back on his bunk. "I can see it now, the Kommandant comes back, and the prisoners have installed a swimming pool, with a diving board even. And a casino in the Recreation Hall. And there is a sign at the front gate that says 'Ladies Night every Monday, Thursday and Saturday! Free drinks to anyone wearing a dress and high heels! Half price drinks to anyone in a dress and high heels also wearing a moustache!"

Schultz groaned again, "please, Karl, the walls, remember, the walls!" Unfortunately for his dreams that night, the pictures Langenscheidt painted were all too real, and knowing Hogan, quite feasible!

For Langenscheidt, though, he lay awake for some time letting the possibilities play out in his mind. IF he survived the war, there was the makings of a very amusing book in this whole situation!

 

Puffery and Tomfoolery -

The next few days went by in a rush, Hogan and the guys prepping Klink for his adventure. One problem was, of course, Klink's general ineptitude in pretty much all areas, but particularly on the physical side of things. Finding a way around that hadn't been easy, til Kinch came up with an idea. 

"You aren't there to put on a show for them, remember, Kommandant. YOU already know this stuff, you're the expert. You DIRECT them, that's how they will learn best. It is beneath your dignity to get down on the floor and do push-ups, sit-ups, climbing up ropes, all of that; you're their coach. You just stand there, walk around, encourage them, keep them moving, giving them pointers on what they're doing wrong. See, like this!"

Kinch put on a fine show of military bearing and solemn intent while putting a highly annoyed Newkirk and Carter through their paces. A few sotto voce remarks were answered by a highly arrogant pose and a tap on the back by that swagger stick he'd borrowed from Klink. "You, mind what you're doing; focus, man, focus!" He wasn't sure what that bit of Cockney cant meant, OR that bit of gutteral from Carter, but he knew it was probably better that way.

At Newkirk's turn, there was less physical activity, which was good because all that walking around and swaggering had pretty much worn Klink out. 

"Now, this 'ere's your stack of charts, Kommandant! See, they're numbered, and 'ere's the notes of w'at yer to say with each. No, Kommandant, you've got the bloody thing upside down! THIS way!"

LeBeau was not particularly happy about this assignment, but he was making the best of it. He had delivered several toning recipes for the muscles, some for losing weight, and finished with a very special pair to influence virility. 

"So you see, Kommandant, to cool the blood, you use THIS formula; to heat it, you use THIS one. You will notice I have placed a tiny sun in the corner of the one for heating, a snowflake in the corner of the one for cooling." 

He rolled his eyes at Klink's furrowed brow as he tried to decipher the difference between a sun and a snowflake. Mon Dieu!

Newkirk whispered to him when Carter took over the training. "Ei, Louie. That stuff really work, w'at you were telling 'im?" He'd never needed such, figuring his blood was just the right temperature as it was, but figured it'd be worth a bloody fortune if he could get it bottled and started selling it.

LeBeau snorted, "if I had put in all the right herbs, yes, of course, to some extent. But since I seem to have left out one or two of the most important ones, added a few with perhaps a different purpose, who knows?" giving a very Gallic shrug. 

Newkirk grinned with appreciation. There was more than one reason he and LeBeau were best friends. "Any idea of w'at they WILL do, the way you 'ave them written out?"

"I have NO idea, Pierre, nor do I care, as long as it is not beneficial to the damned boche! I am certain the wormwood will have SOME interesting effect, however. There is a reason absinthe was outlawed, you know. And when you add the teaspoon of nutmeg and the dash of liquid from the fermented rye grain, well . . ." That smile was chilling.

Newkirk reminded himself not to let LeBeau dose him unless he was very sure of the Frenchman's mood.

Hogan had overheard, though, and feeling poisoning the entire delegation would perhaps be long-term detrimental to their work, especially if the trail led back here, insisted LeBeau make a few adjustments to that last 'tonic'. "Just enough that one or two might find they're 'allergic' to it, maybe, but not a hundred percent deadly!" LeBeau pouted a little, but gave in.

Carter was being all professorial, except mixed with a swirl of typical Carter, which was amusing as well as a little scary. Heaven knows where those numbers on the charts came from, but even Hogan had to admit the end effect was quite impressive. 

Of course, no one expected Carter's generous offer to share "the special Sioux tonic my cousin makes up and sends me. You mix it in with something like schnapps and you can see the effect real soon, like in less than an hour even! It would be something really special you could share with the other guys, Kommandant. It's really kinda rare, but what with you being almost like a father to us here, well, I thought maybe you'd like it. I wrote out the directions on the outside of the bag, see? Don't go trying it before you get there with the others, though; there's only enough for one good round for how many you say are going to be there. This should really impress them, really knock their socks off!"

A whisper, "Carter, w'at's in that bag?" got a very innocent look, one Newkirk knew better than to trust.

"Carter??" Hogan asked sternly, once they got back to the barracks. "The tonic?"

"Well, gee, guys! I don't see you getting all upset about the tonics LeBeau was giving him the recipes for! Well, except for that one, and I can kinda see that. And mine, well, it's more of a nutritional supplement, I guess you'd call it, anyway. Dry powered mushrooms and cactus buttons. It's real good stuff; my grandfather swore by it."

While Hogan might have bought that, Newkirk hadn't, not for one minute. Later, "if it's such great stuff, Andrew, why aint you ever shared it with us?" When he heard the answer, he had to go take a long walk through the tunnels, where his loud snickers wouldn't be disruptive to anyone else. {"Andrew, sometimes . . ."}

 

Illusion, Snake Oil and Music -

Starting off was an exercise in confusion. Klink changed uniforms twice, the first time because he'd been so nervous he'd dropped egg all down the front of his jacket, the second time because he split the seat of his trousers getting into the staff car. He was now dressed in the only uniform he had that wasn't already packed in his suitcase. Hogan and the guys had gathered all the meeting materials and had them loaded in the car, so they had some confidence he'd actually get there with them intact. 

"Course, whether 'e remembers 'e's got them, that's another story."

They watched the car get to the gate, then stop, then back up to where they stood. Klink rolled down the window and stuck out his head.

"Hogan, are you sure . . ."

"Kommandant, you'll be fine! You're the Iron Eagle, remember! Go forth, spread your wings, conquer all in your sight!"

The look on Klink's face as he drove off didn't look like he was going do any soaring.

"Barfing's more like it," Carter snickered. "Boy, he's really a funny kinda green!"

The car almost made it out of the gate the next time, but then they saw a hand reach out the window, and Schultz puffed over to see what was needed. The big man then lurched his way over to them. 

"Sergeant Kinchloe, he needs to see you. And Colonel Hogan, he is talking about taking Sergeant Carter with him; and maybe Corporal Newkirk. That would be a very bad idea, Colonel Hogan. And PLEASE, do not say YOU will go with him. There are too many eyes and ears at that meeting; it would not be safe!" There was an uncomfortable knowing in the old soldier's eyes, one they just weren't used to seeing there, and it was a little disconcerting.

Well, once Kinch had once again explained the diffence between a squat thrust and a burpee, once everyone encouraged Klink he'd be just fine on his own, that taking anyone with him would show a lack of confidence on his part, "not that it would be TRUE, of course, Kommandant, but you know how people get the wrong idea sometimes", the car finally made it out of the gate.

Newkirk slapped Kinch on the shoulder, "well, look at it this way, Kinch old man. At least 'e wasn't asking to be reminded of the difference between a push-up and a pull-up. Thought 'e was gonna be stuck on that one forever!"

Kinch just shook his head, "Colonel, do you think he has any chance at all of pulling this off?"

Carter broke in, "well, sure he's got a chance, Kinch. Not sure what the exact odds would be; but maybe a gazillion to one?" There was a general, if slightly uneasy laugh, and they went about their own business.

 

Bolstered by that small flask Schultz had wisely placed in the car, by the time he arrived at the meeting, Klink had convinced himself he was not only prepared, but the most well prepared man in attendance. While that might not have been strictly accurate, he was certainly the man with the most unique presentations just waiting to be shared with his fellow participants. 

"Be careful with that, now," he sternly instructed the young man who reached for his briefcase containing his notes and handouts, and turned to issue a similar command to the other man reaching for the suitcase and large portfolio containing his charts and graphs, and his violin case, which he had included at the last minute. He paused a moment, looking around at the rather nice small hotel, and lifted his head and straightened his back, and marched into the scene of his inevitable triumph.

That first evening had been highly agreeable. Klink and his fellow seven participants, plus those who were responsible for managing this event, a few local officials - they had been joined by a few lovely frauleins, all enjoying the schnapps and well-prepared food being offered to them. As he settled into his bed that night, Klink smiled, thinking about the days to come. He was scheduled for day three for one of his lectures, day nine for the other, but there were so many other activities, round-table discussions and much else in the way of business, plus various amusements planned. Ah, yes, almost as good as a vacation! Any remaining doubts faded away, possibly under the influence of the several glasses of schnapps he had enjoyed.

The meetings started out well, and only got better. The roundtables were interesting, and he found the little 'buzz-words' Hogan and the others had taught him {"such an odd phrase, that one"} worked quite well, indicating in turn that he was engaged, carefully thoughtful, thoughtfully approving, gently skeptical, - whatever was needed to replace his actual response, which was usually total confusion.

His response to the various other lectures were equally appropriate, thanks to some careful coaching and role-playing by Hogan and his team. He was even able to cobble together some intelligent-sounding questions, based on their work. He might not understand the answers, but that was irrelevant.

When his first lecture came up, the one with all the graphs and charts, he was quite nervous. Indeed he had dropped them all as he was leaving his room, and had to hustle to get them back in order. At least he remembered to put them right side up, Newkirk having finally, in exasperation, marked the upper right of each with a large red dot. So, red dot in upper right corner, number in lower right corner, and corresponding note with the same number at the UPPER right corner. It seemed more complicated than it needed to be, to Wilhelm Klink, but it certainly helped him get things in the right order again. Of course, Newkirk would be the first one to admit the data was as accurate and made probably as much sense upside down as right side up, but that wasn't the point.

At first it seemed his audience was rather lost, bewildered at his lecture, or perhaps his lecturing style, but soon there were smiles, nods of understanding, of appreciation on each. Whether that was because they truly understood (or thought they understood) what he was telling them, who knows. Frankly, some of what his helpers had put together, even THEY hadn't understood, but his audience seemed quite appreciative of what he was offering to them. His favorable reception might just have boiled down to, if Klink was here, the Third Reich thought what he had to say was of benefit to them, and far be it from any of them to show open disagreement! And besides, inside each one of them there was the worry that if they DID question anything, and they were the only one, they would appear a fool, and they didn't want to embarrass themselves like that.

All in all, things were going well. Sergeant Kinchloe earned a particularly fervent thanks when Klink's lecture on physical preparedness had its turn. He had exactly the right response, the right attitude, and no one had even thought to question why HE wasn't participating in all those physical endeavors. And Newkirk's drawings clearly outlined each physical exercise, so the men could have no question of what was expected. Yes, that went well, although the large room with mats did smell rather pungent after the exercise session was up.

He wasn't sure when he'd share Carter's little gift with them. There hadn't been time during his 'diet and herbs to enhance performance' section of his lecture. However, it seems the participants would be drawing lots for the honor of making special presentations during the last two days of the meeting, and he had drawn one of the prime slots, the last slot on the morning before the meeting adjourned. He just hoped this would be all Carter had promised! 

He'd offered to play his violin after the lunch on that day, so he had it with him, in one hand, and the small sack in the other when he went to the designated room. It seems the organizers had delivered everything he'd asked for, the bottles of schnapps, the glasses, the tall glass pitchers and stirring stick. Yes, this should be quite an experience, IF Carter was right. He'd tried not to build this up too much {"underpromise, overdeliver,"} he kept reminding himself, just as the men who had so kindly, so graciously helped him had firmly advised. He almost felt tears coming to his eyes at the idea that they, his enemies, his prisoners, these men who had come to look at him almost like a father, had helped him achieve this triumph!

"As you all know, our beloved leader has often spoken of the American Indians with great respect, having cited the writings of Karl Friedrich May as being among his most beloved inspirations. I have been honored by a member of the American Sioux tribe with a sample of one of their most cherished tonics, one known to bring clarity and enlightenment. I have brought that with me to share with you, my brothers-in-arms, today. Behold!"

With a great flourish, he divided the contents of the small bag between the three pitchers waiting on the side table, added schnapps enough to bring each pitcher to a good level and stirred vigorously. 

There was a heady buzz in the room. The thought of sharing in such an inspirational treasure was intoxicating, perhaps as much as that schnapps looked to be. After all, that was three whole pitchers to be shared amongst the eight of them and the three coordinators in the room with them.

After waiting for the powder to dissolve, he poured a large glass for everyone in the room, taking one himself as well. Just as Carter had indicated, there was just enough to go around.

"Now, it can take from thirty minutes to an hour for the full effect to be felt, so I would suggest, as we drink, we share what each of US consider our primary source of inspiration to be!"

Somehow, Karl Friedrich May also seemed to be a favorite, along with Hitler himself, of course. The first to finish his drink was Colonel Lutemeyer, and since he was the last to share this thoughts, the potion had a bit longer to take effect before he spoke. Perhaps that was why he was odd man out with his bold declaration that HE had always found rainbows, puppies and the book 'Heidi' by Johanna Spyri to be quite inspiring, but most of all, violin music. Perhaps Lutemeyer was just braver than the rest, or perhaps it was that he, at hardly a hundred ten pounds was the smallest in the group so that the schnapps-based tonic affected him quicker and perhaps to a greater degree.

In any case, that provided the perfect entree for Klink, who was perhaps starting to feel that tonic himself. With a grand gesture, he pulled out his violin case and pronounced, "then, for Colonel Lutemeyer, we must have violin music, yes??"

The staff of the small hotel, moving up and down the hallway outside that meeting room, winced in pain at the sounds issuing forth, but inside, ah, that was a different story. The rapt audience focused on Wilhelm Klink and his violin presentation as no one had ever done before. As for Klink? He was in raptures! The instrument responded to his lightest touch, the music was sublime, and his audience was obviously entranced. 

"Look," Gerstmeyer whispered, "the colors! Each note is of a different color! So beautiful!"

Klum nodded his head in agreement. "And the air, it vibrates in waves and patterns you can see, as the music shifts! And that is in color also! He is a musical genius, this Wilhelm Klink!"

They would have gotten no quarrel from anyone in the room, and as for poor little Lutemeyer, he was sobbing like a child at the outpouring of emotions from that unworldly performance. In fact, he was so moved, at the end of the conference, he drove his car straight to Switzerland and asked for asylum based on spiritual reasons. "For I saw an angel by the name of Heidi appear before me, and she spoke to me, in music and color and all the beauty of the world, and I knew this was what I must do!"

The waiters came in at the appointed time to serve lunch, and before long had to dash back to the kitchen to tell the much annoyed cooks, "quickly, prepare more! They have devoured it all and are calling for more! I don't care what you fix; I doubt they do either, but their appetite is astonishing! One of the organizers just ate two of the candles from the table display!"

After the lunch, the afternoon social session was cancelled due to the fact all the participants were found taking impromptu naps here and there and everywhere. Well, it HAD been a busy two weeks!

The last morning consisted primarily of congenial back-slapping, promises to write, and at least two shy smiles indicating very fond remembrances of this two week respite from the war and the outside world. 

Klink oversaw the loading of his violin and all the rest into the car, and headed back to Stalag 13, confident that he had made himself AND General Burkhalter proud.

 

Meanwhile, in one of the side rings - ie. Stalag 13 -  
The Games Commence -

"Colonel, any idea why this guy Luman hasn't shown up?" Carter asked on the third day after Klink had departed. Not that he minded, no siree, but Schultz was wearing himself to a frazzle worrying about being in charge. Carter hated seeing the old guy so upset.

"Not a clue, Carter," Hogan replied.

"Best thing that could 'appen, if you ask me. Could get all manner of things off our plate with no one but ole Schultzie watching the store," Newkirk offered.

"Maybe, but what if Hochstetter shows up? Klink at least had SOME influence, not a heck of a lot, but some. Schultz? Hochstetter would roll him up like a worn-out carpet," Kinch responded.

"Well, one thing we're going to get off our plate tonight is that munitions dump to the west. It's a little out of our range normally, but now, I think we just might be able to pull it off. See, we do it like this . . ."

 

The munitions dump was the first item on the list, soon to be followed by a variety of other little projects. "Boy! Maybe we should send Klink on a vacation more often!" Carter enthused.

"We didn't send 'im on this one, Carter," Newkirk reminded him. "And don't know about the rest of you guys, but I'm starting to get a bad feeling about this w'ole thing. Got a feeling it's gonna turn around and bite us in the arse."

Hogan just shook his head; Newkirk always HAD been the pessimist of the group. As for him? Well, he was on a roll, and it had never felt better! There really should be a word for this feeling, but he'd never found the right one.

Luman didn't show up, but on day seven General Burkhalter's staff car came rumbling through the gates. Schultz got the news by the private sent scurrying his way by Corporal Langenscheidt, so he had time to heave himself up out of Klink's chair before the General walked in.

Burkhalter frowned, "Schultz? Where is Major Luman? I wanted to get a first hand report on how things are going." 

Burkhalter's Aide had telephoned several times, but each time had only gotten a rather vague, "all is going just fine, you may assure the general all is under control." Funny how it was always the pretty fraulein, or Schultz or Langenscheidt who made the response, never Major Luman. 

That frown only intensified when Burkhalter at last heard that Luman had never showed up, that Schultz had been in charge for the whole week. Deciding that fact alone necessitated an inspection, the general was pleasantly surprised to find things were well in hand, all prisoners accounted for, the place as well-disposed as you could expect. 

Fraulein Hilda had charmed him as usual, LeBeau had prepared a better lunch than he would have gotten in town, and the books and reports were in fine shape. As he was leaving, Burkhalter was starting to wonder if the mystery of how an idiot like Klink could manage the job of being Kommandant hadn't just been solved. 

Back at his own office, over a glass of schnapps, he mused to his Aide, "you know, Mueller, those three are doing a remarkably fine job. Perhaps Klink isn't such an idiot after all; at least he is intelligent enough to surround himself with strong people. That is always a key factor to success, as I well know," lifting his glass to Mueller, who smiled and lifted his own in return. They had been together for a long time after all, had a strong mutual respect, but it was always nice when your superior acknowledged your worth.

Back at Stalag 13, as the general's staff car had cleared the gate, Schultz and Langenscheidt and Hilda shared a relieved sigh, a look of appreciation, and a glass of the Kommandant's schnapps in celebration of one more hurdle out of the way.

 

Wild Animals and Knife Acts:

Hogan was on a roll, the guys were getting more and more enthusiastic about the possibilities, though Newkirk was still grumbling under his breath such downers as "can't last forever", and "things go this good, you know there's gonna be a catch", and various other cheery little notes. Everyone was pretty much ignoring him in the relaxed atmosphere around camp. Schultz was being even more easy going than usual, though keeping to the general routine, Langenscheidt just as apt to be in a circle of prisoners and guards telling one of his stories as walking patrol, and Hilda was pretty much running the office. 

Outside the barracks, Andrew Carter was sunning himself, with Newkirk slouched into the wall smoking a cigarette, handing it down to Carter every second puff.

"Gee, Newkirk, I don't see why you're so worried! Everything's going great!"

"Andrew, told you I traveled with a circus once in my misspent youth. Well, one thing I learned back then, you get one performance without a mis'ap, that's one thing. You get a string of them, that just aint natural; disaster is waiting round the corner. And aint just the actual performances, you know. In a circus, there's all kinds of rigging and equipment that can go wrong; working with animals aint always so 'ealthy. Seems like all the little things that could go wrong but didn't, just pile up til w'at you've got is a bloody disaster just waiting to 'appen. That's w'at this feels like, a bloody disaster just waiting to . . ."

His voice trailed off as a staff car came to a halt outside the gate. His slouched pose snapped to a taut readiness.

"Get 'ogan, Carter! Looks like the Gestapo just pulled in. Talk about a bloody disaster!"

 

Hochstetter had been busy spreading his own brand of joy throughout his territory when he heard someone talking about that meeting of 'the best of the best'. He'd been more than a little pissed about that in the first place since the Gestapo had been totally overlooked among the participants. When he heard about Klink being among the lucky ones chosen, he'd snorted in sheer disbelief, but upon being assured that yes, Kommandant Wilhelm Klink of Stalag 13 was to be one of those present, he had fumed. A call to Berlin had no impact it seemed, though of course he'd not gone to the top, not being stupid. No one questioned Hitler's decisions to his face, not if he wanted to continue standing. Still, Hochstetter had presented his arguments to someone fairly high up, and had thought his words had an impact. To find out later that he had been totally ignored, well, that hadn't set well. 

Still, while traveling from one stop to another, he had a thought, one that caused his downturned mouth to change to a chilling smile. With Klink gone, with only a temporary man in charge, there would be no one to stand in Hochstetter's way at the Stalag. Perhaps now he would get some answers about Hogan, about Papa Bear, about the general mayhem that seemed to cluster around that prisoner-of-war camp.

The news that the Gestapo had arrived changed the relaxed atmosphere in the camp like a shot. The easy-poised guards snapped to attention, Hilda scurried to get Schultz's helmet and rifle, making sure there were actually bullets in it this time, Langenscheidt moved to the background but ready to act as Schultz's Aide as needed.

Any confidence Schultz had went out the window, but he manfully made his way to the front steps to greet the major.

"Major Hochstetter, what a pleasant surprise . . ." His attempt at repeating what he had heard Klink say so often failed miserably, his voice trailing off at the evil look on Hochstetter's face. 

"Schultz, you idiot! Where is this new man, this Major Luman? We have something to discuss, he and I."

"Major Luman, Herr Major? Uh, he is not here, Herr Major. He did not arrive, Herr Major."

Hochstetter frowned even more than he'd been previously. "Did not arrive? Then who is in charge around here?" looking around as if there might have been an officer hiding in the corners.

Schultz gulped and attempted a very feeble smile, "uh, me? Yes, it is me. I mean, I am in charge."

Hochstetter's raised voice reached Barracks 2 easily. "YOU??? What do you mean, YOU are in charge? Does Burkhalter know about this?"

Langenscheidt swallowed heavily, but spoke up, since Schultz was obviously having trouble doing so. "Yes, Herr Major. He is aware. General Burkhalter was just here on inspection, and he seemed pleased." Of course, that had been two days ago, but there was no reason to think the general's opinion would have changed.

"BAH! Well, I will just do my OWN inspection, Schultz. We will see how pleased I am, shall we???! Perhaps the general overlooked a few things, yah?"

He started with a very preliminary inspection of the office, Hilda being efficient and polite but not even trying to charm him; she'd tried before and it simply wasn't worth the effort, even if he had been susceptible, which it appeared he wasn't. 

"Now, Schultz, we will visit the prisoners, yes? How many are in the Cooler at the moment?" The look on Hochstetter's face promised he planned to increase that number before long. Hearing that there were currently NO prisoners in the cooler just got a nasty snarl.

The moment the major left the office, with a wan-faced Schultz and Langenscheidt close beside him, Hilda snatched up the phone. "Get me General Burkhalter, at once, please! Yes, it is very important." She waited impatiently, then "Herr General, forgive me for bothering you, but we thought you would want to know . . . ". She held the phone away from her ear at the outpouring of annoyance at the other end when Burkhalter heard Hochstetter was inspecting Stalag 13 "just in case you overlooked a few things in your own inspection, he said, Herr General. Yes, I thought it quite impertinent too, but . . ."

She hung up the phone, hoping Burkhalter would get there quickly. Luckily he had been at his sub-office which was close at hand, not in Dusseldorf or Berlin; she had a feeling time was of the essence.

Burkhalter had ordered all the prisoners at roll-call positions, and inspected them personally and at great length. Several ended up with cooler time based on length of hair, condition of uniforms, "an air of defiance", "that mockery of a smile", "do you call that 'at attention'??", and various other things. Schultz held back from reminding Hochstetter that there were only so many cells in the cooler; he didn't want the major deciding to ship the men elsewhere for their punishment. He knew that would be a recipe for disaster. The major seemed particularly interested in inspecting the prisoners' hands. 

"Their hands, Herr Major?" Schultz questioned, wondering if the Gestapo major had been in the sun too long, though it was a cloudy day. 

"Yes, Schultz, you idiot, their hands! For dirt under their fingernails, for signs of digging tunnels! What do you think?"

Schultz shrugged, bewilderment on his face, "I think with the work details and showers not for another two days, I would not expect clean fingernails," but getting that snarl had him quickly adding, "but I am sure you are right, Herr Major."

Then, it seemed Hochstetter was even more suspicious of LeBeau, that his fingernails actually WERE clean. 

"I am a chef, Major. It is second nature to me. Would you want someone preparing your food with dirty fingernails?" LeBeau had replied, his dislike evident in his face and voice, although Newkirk had discreetly poked him in the ribs to remind him to 'mind your tongue, Louie'. That comment got a snarl from Hochstetter, and then a demand "then you will be the one to prepare a meal for me later, the best of whatever Klink has stolen away." The quick muttering under LeBeau's breath was probably best left uninterpreted.

Newkirk's overly-long sideburns got him scheduled with two weeks in the cooler, which was of no surprise to anyone. Hogan had threatened him with that a time or two himself, though Newkirk pretty much figured two weeks in the cooler was a fair exchange for KEEPING his sideburns. 

Still, he'd been thinking maybe he'd overestimated the potential for disaster when even Hochstetter couldn't find anything else to confront anyone about. After all, the major had missed any of the tunnel entrances, hadn't opened up the coffee pot to spot any of the odd contents. The dogs' reaction to him had prevented him from looking too closely at the kennel that gave them easy access in and out that way. Yes, it was starting to look as if they might get off fairly easy, especially since he knew Hogan could talk Schultz into forgetting about those scheduled cooler assignments.

Then, it all went haywire. A staff car pulled up at the gate with General Burkhalter, who, when he stomped out of the car, was obviously not overly pleased to see the Gestapo in one of his camps. There was a brisk conversation, reasonably polite on the surface, but the snarling from each man apparent underneath. Hochstetter's declaration that he was staying for lunch, that LeBeau was cooking, was met with a very false smile from Burkhalter, who responded, "very good! The Frenchman is an excellent cook. I will stay myself and we will share what he decides to prepare. And we can discuss further, Major, what made you decide to inspect a facility I had just myself inspected."

Hochstetter was on the edge of losing control, that much was obvious. Luncheon was a very tense affair, the conversation one verbal stab after other, each taking their turn. It didn't bode well for their digestion. 

Still, no one really expected him to lash out like that, physically anyway. Oh, not at Burkhalter. Not even Hochstetter was quite mad enough to attack a General in good standing with Hitler. 

But while LeBeau had been commissioned to prepare the lunch, Carter and Newkirk had been pressed into service as waiters, and it was Carter who had the misfortune to slosh a few drops of coffee onto Hochstetter's hand. The fury the Gestapo officer had been trying to hold inside erupted, and the wild sideways swing of that sharp table knife had been aimed right for Carter's eyes. 

A quick shove from the side and Carter was on his knees on the floor, jaw hanging open at the attacks, the first from Hochstetter, the second seemingly from his teammate. Everyone froze at the splattering of blood across the white tablecloth and everything else on the table, and Newkirk gasped as he held his right hand across his cheekbone where he was now sporting a deep gash. Blood gushed from between his fingers. If looks could kill, Hochstetter would have been dead on various counts by now.

Burkhalter was on his feet, gaping for a second, before he angrily ordered Hochstetter out of the room, into his car, and "wherever you were headed before you decided to come and interfere in my business, Major! I think you have done more than enough damage for one day!"

LeBeau had dashed from the kitchen, had turned pale at the sight of blood and ran for Hogan, who arrived breathing fire. "What the hell happened, General?" he demanded, after sending LeBeau for the medic, watching Carter urging Newkirk to a chair, pressing a napkin against that bloody flow.

For once Burkhalter didn't take offense; he could only respect a fellow officer who defended his men. "My apologies, Colonel Hogan. And to you, also, Corporal. That was inexcusable, of course." 

He actually looked a little flustered, certainly remorseful, and perhaps his comment to Newkirk, busy getting the blood staunched, reflected that, his little attempt at forced levity, about it looking a little like a saber scar. 

"Almost looks like a renommierschmiss, you know. A dueling scar. Most impressive. One might mistake you for a graduate of Heidelberg with that. " 

Newkirk just glared through the pain, and snarled, "well, that saves me the time and effort of attending then. Bloody lucky me! "

Burkhalter frowned at the impertinence of the words, the accent, then just shrugged and sighed, "or perhaps not."

Deciding against the rest of the lunch, considering the blood sprayed across the plates, Burkhalter went back to Klink's office, accompanied by an appalled Schultz, with Langenscheidt trailing along. 

Settling into Klink's chair, Burkhalter sighed heavily. "Gentlemen, this has been an overly eventful day. Perhaps a glass of schnapps is in order." Seemingly the events HAD rather overcome the General, since for the first and last time in their military careers, the other two found themselves sharing a drink with someone that far above them in the chain of command. 

While Burkhalter's decision to stick around, work from Klink's office, stay in his quarters til Klink was due to return put a halt to Hogan's escapades, they'd already gotten a huge amount accomplished, and would be happy enough to take a break. Newkirk, for one, wasn't going to be headed outside the wire in the immediate future. The sentences to the cooler issued by Hochstetter were torn up, and although Burkhalter did agree that Newkirk's sideburns were too far out of line, he didn't have the heart to demand anything be done about them, not considering everything else that had happened.

 

A Bite of Cotton Candy:

When chided by Andrew Carter for stepping in like that, Newkirk blew it off with a casual shrug. "Didn't stop to think, Andrew. Don't make so much out of it." 

To LeBeau, though, he was a little more honest. 

"Bloody bastard was aiming for Andrew's eyes, Louie; woulda blinded 'im, more'n like. Colonel would 'ave my guts for garters, I let our explosives expert get put out of commission like that," still making it sound very offhand.

LeBeau snorted, "of course, mon ami, of course," glancing over at the young American sergeant watching them with a worried air. "There was nothing personal in it at all."

Newkirk flushed, not liking anyone to think he was getting soft or anything. "Acourse not! Now, don't you start with me, Louie!" he complained.

"Never would I do that . . . . grandmere," the last in little more than a sly whisper. How young Andrew Carter had slipped past Peter Newkirk's defenses, he didn't know; he was just glad the irascible Englishman had at least one more he could call friend.

 

Finale:

Burkhalter stayed til the morning Klink was due back, but was gone by the time Kommandant Klink rolled in through the gates like a returning warrior, carrying his shield (in the form of a certificate of completion) proudly. 

Taking a measuring eye around, he nodded comfortably. Obviously the new man had kept things under control. While it was a shock to hear the new man had never showed up, but that Burkhalter had (twice!) and even Hochstetter, even more hearing about Hochstetter's temper tantrum, still, he was very happy to be back and out of the limelight.

After unpacking, one of his first moves was to invite Hogan in to relate his tales of glory. His arrogance was clearly visible, he was greatly puffed up about the whole two weeks. 

Until Hogan left. 

Then, walking over to look in the mirror, the confusion, bewilderment returned, and Kommandant Wilhelm Klink wondered, once again, just what the hell had happened. And he wondered, in the privacy of his own quarters, how many of those others had also been faking it, pretending to be more than they really were.

 

The Ringmaster:

"You're kidding, right?" 

No, it wasn't politically correct, the question or his tone of voice, but what he'd just been told, rather reluctantly, just called for that kind of a reply. That HQ would risk blowing HIS operation out of the water to help facilitate ANOTHER operation just boggled his mind. Especially when they hadn't given him any advance warning! While they hadn't been forthcoming with all the details, of course, still he'd heard enough to know it had been a truly masterful, highly convoluted, multi-layered plan. 

Setting the transmitter aside ever so gently, he returned to his office and gave his command crew the whole crazy story. There was silence til Newkirk, bandage across his right cheek, said in a long sarcastic drawl pretty much what had gone through each of their minds. 

"Ei, gov, you been cheatin on us?? Maybe starting up another racket with a different crew? Or is it you've got a twin brother somew'ere up at HQ you never mentioned before? Didn't think anyone but you could come up with a crazy scheme like that and expect it to come off!" 

In fact, although Hogan would never admit it, he WAS rather envious; it was the kind of plan he would have been more than proud to claim.

 

General Smith was looking uneasily at his favorite nephew, the creator of this mad plan that, in spite of all reason, had come off without a hitch. Young John Smith was way too young to be chewing on that cigar like he was, was also way too smart for his own good, probably a genius, though certainly of the eccentric type. One thing was for sure, the General was NEVER going to tell anyone where he came up with this highly-successful but totally bizarre plan! The precocious brat would probably be locked up in a military think-tank for the rest of his life!

"John, I love you, boy, but you do know you're a little scary when you're on the jazz, right?!!" the General said uneasily. 

That just got him a sly cheeky grin from his namesake. "What can I say, Uncle John? I just love it when a plan comes together!"


End file.
